


My Baby Never Left Me

by buriedbarnes



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Brainwashing, Laughter, M/M, Stucky - Freeform, but there's no death, gay love can pierce the veil of death and save the day, suicide mention kinda (only like one line)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-07 12:01:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5455766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buriedbarnes/pseuds/buriedbarnes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was no face, body, or name, just the laughter that sounded like music. It drifted through his ears sweetly and bounced around the room rocketing off the metal walls surrounding him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Baby Never Left Me

**Author's Note:**

> based off of my own headcanon where bucky always heard this strange, beautiful laughter that no matter how hard hydra tried they couldn't erase from his memory
> 
> also i haven written anything in an extremely long time so please be kind. any feedback is welcomed with open arms.

There was no face, body, or name, just the laughter that sounded like music. It drifted through his ears sweetly and bounced around the room rocketing off the metal walls surrounding him. It was never silenced by his own screams of torment; it only became louder as if promising that the pain would sink away and all would be made anew. It provided him with comfort, and he held on to it.

There was nothing. He lived in darkness and felt nothing but the cold pressing against his skin like the Russian winter. His breath turned to ice while fire burned inside of him, and white turned to deep, dark, red and swallowed him whole. That was the day he had felt the laughter grip his hand almost painfully pulling and dragging him forward. Echoing in his ears, it forced him to keep going. Even when the blood spilled was no longer his, the laughter only gripped him tighter. It taught him how to breathe again however shamefully.

It belonged to no one except for him. It never left him. No matter how many times they ripped pieces of him away exposing parts of him he didn't even know he had, no matter how destructive those pieces were that laughter never abandoned him. Even when he was unwelcome to himself, even when he felt his own arms pushing him away that laughter was always there to bring him home - to bring him back to himself. It was the one thing he couldn't forget. They could take his body, his will, his soul, but this was something they could never take from him.

It was the only he had left. Mission after mission; he was a machine to be used and controlled. He was driven insane by their rules, their force. He could no longer recognize himself; he no longer wanted to. He feared mirrors and what he would see in them. He never spoke unless he had to afraid of what he'd hear within his own voice. He turned against himself, and, after awhile, it seemed as if the laughter had, too. It still rang sweet and soft, but it felt like a gun pressed against his temple. He blamed the laughter and feared it for years before he realized the hand holding the gun was his own. The laughter drew him back; it caught his hand and again kept him alive.

He wished to know the laughter. Where had it come from? Who did it belong to? It obviously knew him; it would never let him be. Even when he screamed and yelled until his voice turned hoarse and his lips blue, even when he begged it to leave him alone, the laughter stayed and held him. It kept him awake and put him to sleep.

It was just another day, and he was just another target - one with blonde hair and blue eyes. He was a mission to be completed and a hard one, at that. He was a nuisance; never had anyone fought back as forcefully as he had. His determination impressed him but did not sway him. The target became a confused man holding a mask, and his voice? What a peculiar thing. Flashes of memories and pain and laughter.

"Wipe him."

It all disappears again swirling and dodging and Bucky's falling but the laughter catches him. He's suspended and hardened. All he knows is to scratch the hand holding his, to keep doing as he's told. He stays what he has become, decidedly not a good man, but definitely a perfect soldier. He's the farthest gone he's ever been, but he's never lost a fight.

He's just another mission calling him by a name he doesn't recognize in a voice that strikes him down. It's too late to go back. This man - whoever he is - has made him. The mission is over; he can't finish it, so he just let's him fall. The laughter again rings in his ears, and he does has he's told. He pulls the man to shore and flees. There's no place to go; he's running, and, now, he is left entirely alone with laughter that isn't his. It never was. Suddenly, things begin to float their way back to him - memories, missions, people. He thought he knew pain, but there's no pain like remembering. He's never felt his chest twisted so tight. The laughter comes to him again but provides him no comfort. Instead, the bile rises faster to his throat. He's processing and processing like the machine he is, and he's never felt so dizzy, so ready for things to end. The laughter becomes louder and louder and slips through his hair like fingers, and suddenly laughter has hands, a body, a face, a name, and everything. Just. Stops.

"Steve."


End file.
